


Kindling For the Flame

by the_dala



Series: Honey and the Moon-verse [7]
Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, OT3, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 14:54:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4064161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_dala/pseuds/the_dala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elizabeth, Jack, and Anamaria occupy themselves while the <i>Pearl</i> is becalmed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kindling For the Flame

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published November 8th, 2004.

“It’s hot,” Elizabeth complains, wiping the sweat from her brow for what feels like the thousandth time today. The _Pearl_ looks odd beneath the brutal sunlight, bleached somehow, and even Jack is squinting.

Lounging against the wheel, he says, “Yes, we know that, love. No wind for three days. Could boil an egg on me head. Take another swim.”

She shakes her head, too sticky and frustrated to explain herself. The heat’s seeping through to her core. It throbs and aches like a sunburn every time Anamaria casts a dark gaze her way or she looks at the bare ridges of Jack’s spine.

“I want to fuck,” she says plaintively. Somewhere above her head, the rigging creaks in sympathy.

Jack raises his eyebrows, then bares his teeth in a wicked leer. She scowls when he reaches for her. She burns, but the thought of being caught between two likewise overheated bodies makes her skin twitch. “It’s too bloody hot.”

“Now that, lass, sounds far too much like defeat for me t’ be hearin’ it from your lovely lips,” says Jack, chucking her under the chin. His smirk is a challenge if ever she’s seen one, and though she might refuse him in combat when she’s of a mind, she makes a point of never conceding to him in bed.

Which is _that_ way. Jack doesn't protest as she pulls him along by the elbow. He has to do an awkward sort of jig step to keep up with her long strides, blithely calling out apologies to the idle sailors they’re bumping into. Without a word, Elizabeth drags Anamaria away from her conversation with Marty on the fo’c’sle deck. The woman puts up a bit more of a fuss than their captain, digging her heels into the deck and demanding to know what Elizabeth’s about.

"Patience,” Jack sings out. Elizabeth shoves him forward into the cabin before Anamaria can lay a hand on him.

The three of them stand still for a moment, Anamaria waiting with her arms crossed and her foot tapping, Jack propped against the bolted door, Elizabeth at the base of the grand bed with her head cocked to one side as she considers dynamics.

“Right,” she says decisively. “Strip.”

“Th’ hell?” Anamaria wants to know. Jack chuckles and slips his thumbs into his waistband.

Elizabeth tugs her own shirt over her head, reveling in the sudden sense of lightness. Before Anamaria can react, Elizabeth steps forward to kiss her. Hands automatically come up to grasp her shoulders, but she catches them, holds both arms out from their bodies while she slides her tongue in convincing strokes.

“Hot,” she murmurs against Anamaria’s lips, prompting a smile and muscles relaxing beneath her fingers. Anamaria lets her arms fall, kisses Elizabeth back. She presses just close enough so that Elizabeth’s nipples brush against rough, salt-stained cotton and the firm breasts beneath it. Her groan is mimicked from their otherwise silent observer. Anamaria’s eyelids flicker open, and she and Elizabeth share a common unspoken agreement: _Let him wait_.

Using just the tips of her fingers, Elizabeth plucks the shirt out and lifts it, momentarily upset at the loss of friction but oh yes, skin on skin is much better. Not the full, slick weight of Anamaria’s body against hers but just where it matters, where it makes her shiver despite the heat. Hard, pebbled flesh like her own, only darker and perhaps a bit wider in circumference – she’s not a jealous creature, really, not when this is so much her own...

And there’s no reason she has to stand with her hands behind her back all night, game or no game, so she raises one hand to pinch and roll, gratified by the answering nip to her bottom lip. Always willing to raise the stakes, Anamaria pokes at the sharp rise of Elizabeth’s hip, nudging her far enough away to fit another hand between them. She gives the mess of curls a perfunctory rifle, but Elizabeth is not surprised when she goes straight for the kill – thumb slicing between her folds, knuckle pressing in just the right spot.

All the heat in the room shoots low in her body, dragged by Anamaria’s twisting hand. Elizabeth rolls her head on her neck, then throws it back in annoyance as the knot in her hair comes loose and sends its damp weight tumbling down her back. She draws back to fix it; Anamaria clucks her tongue and spins her around to do her the favor, conveniently leaving Elizabeth free to behold Jack. He’s still leaning against the door, but now he’s completely nude – unfair; how does he always manage to beat them to it? – tugging at his cock in a slow, deliberate manner in keeping with the languor of the day. Elizabeth grins and crooks a finger at him, sighing in appreciation as Anamaria lifts her hair up to lick wide swaths across her neck.

Hooded eyes as sultry as the air in the cabin, Jack steals up to her, hips leading. He follows Anamaria’s lead and keeps his hands to himself as he kisses her, though he tilts forward so that the heat of his erection presses against her belly.

Hot air rises, she remembers, and drops to her knees to see if it’s true. She can’t really tell, distracted as she is by the cock bobbing hopefully in front of her face. Well, if he wants attention, he’ll have to put up with her hands on him, because otherwise she won’t be able to keep her balance. He doesn't seem to mind the sweaty fingers locking on his hips, so she flicks out her tongue, slicks him from base to head, and blows on the wet stripe. Jack hisses and grabs wildly at empty space; Anamaria’s hands dart out to catch his. She holds him steady as Elizabeth mouths him with wetted lips.

“That damned mouth o' yours,” Jack mutters, jerking and breaking off into a whimper as she retaliates with her teeth.

“Never can shut up, can you, Sparrow?” Anamaria’s voice is lazy with amusement. She’s in a nice enough mood not to bite when Jack kisses her – at least, not hard. Elizabeth glances up at them, seeing Anamaria take firm hold of a few wayward braids and twists. She decides it doesn't violate the rule, as she’s not touching his skin precisely. Nor do his hands on her own head, because they’re gentle and light and trembling faintly. They've got him well-trained, she thinks with pride.

She lets Anamaria distract him up top while she nudges his legs further apart. Pulling slightly back, she opens her mouth wide to slide her own fingers in, stroking him neatly. Quick as she can, Elizabeth withdraws her fingers, drags her nails over his balls, and reaches back to press a damp fingertip against the entrance to his body.

From the sound of it, he nearly chokes on Anamaria’s tongue. She snickers, looking down at Elizabeth’s antics. There are few things she likes better than to see Jack Sparrow driven up the wall.

“I really...regret...teachin’ you that trick,” he pants, his hands curling into her hair as she pushes past tight muscle.

“No, you really don’t,” says Anamaria, leaving Jack gasping like a dying fish in order to kneel gracefully behind Elizabeth. She runs her hand, flat-palmed, up and down Elizabeth’s back until it is slippery with sweat, and then she slides it into Elizabeth’s breeches and between her thighs. The added moisture isn't really necessary, Elizabeth thinks at first, but then Anamaria touches her and she realizes that the beads of sweat have become cool – blessedly cool, and no doubt as salty-sweet as Jack’s flesh in her mouth. She pulls back to suck hard on the head of his cock and thrusts another finger inside him. He’ll never want for the touch of a man, that’s for damned sure, not after she goes shopping during their next jaunt in Singapore.

He’s moaning and swearing raggedly now, one hand braced against the wall and the other tangled up in the knot of her hair, which he lifts to the side. Anamaria’s lips melt against the back of her neck, rubbing in time with the fingers moving in and out of her, over the little bundle of nerves to which fever is being driven in cresting waves.

“Go on,” Anamaria murmurs against her nape, and Elizabeth knows she’s not urging her to climax because her callused fingers keep the same pace. First come, first served, then – or the other way around, more accurately.

She hums low in her throat where Jack is sunk as deep as she can take him, and she twists mercilessly into him at just the right spot. He squeezes his sweaty hand on her shoulder as he yells obscenities and finds his release. Elizabeth swallows greedily, for Anamaria is nodding in approval and her hand stars moving faster. Forgetting about the game, Elizabeth releases Jack and arches her spine until she can lean back against the other woman. The hands switch so quickly she can hardly tell, the wet one snaking around to smear patterns over her breasts. Jack, slumped on the deck after he succumbed to shaky knees, bends down to lap her clean again. Elizabeth shudders between them, the tongue rasping over her sensitive nipples, the fingers plunging into her cunt and working her harder, faster –

Turning her head, she meets the open mouth at her ear and lets Anamaria swallow her cries as she comes.

The heat breaks upon her like a storm, so that she can’t even feel it when she lays her cheek down on Jack’s scratchy head. It’s simply too much to take in at once – it always, always is. And she cares far more about the familiarity of the arms around her than she does about her body’s discomforts.

Soon enough, however, her skin starts to tingle with it. Too hot, too close, too sticky. Jack lifts his head from her breast, rolling his shoulders with a deep, contented sigh. Elizabeth kisses Anamaria’s dark brows.

“Hold it, now,” says Jack from behind her. “I do believe we have forgotten ourselves, Lizzie.”

“Forgotten me’s more like it,” says Anamaria with a sharp-edged pout.

“Oh! I’m sorry!” Her head still feeling as though it’s been baked to clay, she turns and dutifully pulls Anamaria’s remaining clothing down and off. The woman settles back against the floorboards, clasping her hands around her head. Elizabeth smiles to see her spread out as neatly as a banquet. But Jack catches her face in his hand as she starts to lean down.

“Allow me, love. Your jaw must be tired.” He kisses the hinge of said jaw and lowers his torso over Anamaria’s legs.

Elizabeth sits up to watch her reaction. She goes tense and Jack goes still, waiting, just breathing against her taut skin. Anamaria swallows and lets her head fall back again. Jack drops his head to nuzzle her inner thigh, his hair falling forward to curtain his movements. Elizabeth lets out a breath, scooting up to run her fingers across Anamaria’s cheek.

Things have never exactly been easy between the three of them. She’s known that since the beginning, when she spent a week running back and forth between two beds before finally declaring that they would all share or they’d all end up lonely and frustrated, herself included. Anamaria had acquiesced, and Elizabeth loves her for that; Jack has never since tried to push his luck beyond what his first mate will allow, and Elizabeth loves him for that.

Anamaria’s toes curl, her muscular legs flexing over his shoulders. She closes her eyes and breathes like she might forget how to do it at any moment. Elizabeth will never really understand the expressions that pass over her face whenever she lets Jack go as far as this. Oddly enough, she gets the impression that he knows more than she does. Then again the two of them have known each other for years, and all Elizabeth is really sure of is that the first man Anamaria ever killed was her uncle. Beyond that, she’s had to guess. She guessed once that the long scar on the lean belly might be accounted to Jack, but he swears it isn't. Another tale she doesn't dare ask Anamaria, and another instance where it is impossible to tell how much Jack knows and won’t say.

She tucks these thoughts away. They’re in accord now, beautifully so, Jack’s head bobbing as he puts his clever tongue to good use. Anamaria pulls Elizabeth down, burying her face in her neck and the hair that has yet again fallen down. She says Jack’s name, and she whispers in the language no one else on board knows, and she calls Elizabeth her pretty, pretty Bess.

After her body stops quivering, she sits up, as alert as you please. Jack props his chin on Elizabeth’s shoulder, she leans her head against Anamaria, and they let the sweltering heat settle down on them once more.

Only it doesn't feel quite so heavy as before. Elizabeth prods Jack in the ribs, untangles herself, and pulls on her shirt.

Ducking her head out of the cabin, she laughs aloud at the sails flapping in the breeze and the cool drizzle of rain on her upturned face. Anamaria and Jack wrestle into the space, just as sloppily dressed.

"Well, look't what we did," he says brightly. Anamaria snorts. Elizabeth sticks her tongue out to catch a raindrop.


End file.
